


and this is what it is like or what it is like in words

by hihoplastic



Series: The Worst Witch Tumblr Prompts [15]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: Her eyes catch on words—loved you—and,my best friend,andstill in love with youand she has to sit down. Her eyes track up, and she reads the letter from the beginning, from the slanted,Dear Hiccupto the very end,yours, Pipsqueak.Her heart races and her mouth goes dry and it’s all she can do not to read the words again and again and again, Pippa, pouring her heart out.
Relationships: Hardbroom/Pentangle (Worst Witch)
Series: The Worst Witch Tumblr Prompts [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1014084
Comments: 14
Kudos: 100





	and this is what it is like or what it is like in words

**Author's Note:**

> \- title from Carol Ann Duffy's "Words, Wide Night"  
> \- for Anon on Tumblr who requested "Hicsqueak + angst/comfort + Hecate not believing Pippa is in love with her"  
> 

The letter appears on her desk early Sunday morning, several hours before Pippa’s arrival for tea. She frowns, uncertain how it got there, or why Pippa would feel the need to send her a letter when she could simply mirror if she plans to cancel. Hecate feels a bit of loss at that; she’d been looking forward to their tea for the last two weeks, and she tries to tell herself something must have come up. That Pippa isn’t canceling because she doesn’t want to be there. Shaking herself, she knows she won’t know until she opens the letter, and quickly does so, scanning its contents for the dismissal. 

She freezes. 

Her eyes catch on words— _loved you_ —and, _my best friend,_ and _still in love with you_ and she has to sit down. Her eyes track up, and she reads the letter from the beginning, from the slanted, _Dear Hiccup_ to the very end, _yours, Pipsqueak._ Her heart races and her mouth goes dry and it’s all she can do not to read the words again and again and again, Pippa, pouring her heart out. 

It’s what she’s wanted for so long and what she’s been terrified of, what she wants so badly and what she knows she doesn’t deserve. 

She isn’t certain how long she sits there, on the edge of her bed, reading and rereading and rereading the words until she has the simple, heartfelt letter memorized. 

She isn’t good at this—isn’t good at love—but she promises herself she will tell Pippa. That she won’t let the letter go unmentioned. That maybe, finally, they can have the happily ever after Pippa seems to want just as badly as she does. 

That doesn’t stop her from being nothing short of a nervous wreck before Pippa’s arrival. She tries to distract herself with lesson plans and reading but she can’t concentrate, can’t do anything but think about the letter, the very idea that Pippa could love her as much as she loves, and has always loved, Pippa. 

Two o’clock rolls around far too soon, and yet takes ages, and she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself when Pippa appears at the door, all smile. 

She doesn’t look nervous, but Pippa has always been better at hiding things than Hecate, and so she doesn’t think much of it when Pippa brushes past her, eager for tea and scones and to get started on their chess game, determined, this time, to beat Hecate. They play one match and then two and Pippa still doesn’t bring up the letter, seems perfectly normal and at ease, and Hecate starts to doubt, to wonder. 

When Pippa excuses herself to use the restroom, Hecate retrieves the letter and reads it over again. It’s in Pippa’s handwriting, sounds like Pippa, other than the disbelief she has in the admission itself. She’s so distracted she doesn’t notice Pippa’s return, and nearly jumps at her voice, a curious, 

“What’s that?” 

Hecate swallows. For a moment, she can’t do anything. Doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t breathe. She promised herself she wouldn’t be afraid, wouldn’t run from this, not this time, but she’s terrified, and doesn’t know what to do, and it’s only Pippa’s soft, prompting, “Hecate?” that finally makes her turn around, the letter clutched in her hand. 

“It’s your letter.”

“My letter?” 

Hecate clears her throat. “Yes. The one you sent this morning.” 

Pippa stares at her, and for a moment, Hecate’s heart soars. And then Pippa frowns, and shakes her head, and says, “I didn’t write you a letter,” and Hecate’s heart stops. 

_Foolish,_ she thinks, _sentimental and foolish._

Of course Pippa wouldn’t write her. Of course she wouldn’t say that. Of course, of course, of course and Hecate feels abruptly heartbroken and ridiculous, like a pining school girl grasping at any shred of hope. She feels angry and defensive and humiliated and it all rolls together, makes her breathing shaky and her heart pound and she’s aware she might be panicking but there’s nothing she can think of to do besides stand there and try to breathe. 

“Hecate?” Pippa asks, somewhat alarmed, and crosses quickly to her side, her hand soft on Hecate’s arm. 

But it’s a lie, it’s not real, and she yanks away from her touch, puts half the room between them and crumples the letter in her hand. 

“Never mind,” she says. “I was mistaken.” 

Pippa frowns, but doesn’t approach again. “Darling, you’re white as a ghost. What’s happened? What letter?” 

Hecate tightens her grip on the letter, and doesn’t understand. If Pippa didn't send it, if she didn’t write it, then who, and why, but there’s no time for that, just Pippa standing across from her, staring at her helplessly, and she can’t do this. Can’t face her. 

“You should go,” she says, even as another part of her rebels the thought. 

Pippa shakes her head stubbornly. “Not a chance. Something’s upset you, and I’m not leaving you with it.” 

“Your help is appreciated but unnecessary,” Hecate says stiffly. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine, darling, you’re shaking,” Pippa says, and the endearment feels like a brand. 

Hecate looks down at her hand, sees that Pippa’s correct, she is trembling, but she doesn’t know how to make it stop. How to make any of this stop. 

“I just need a moment,” she says, and Pippa crosses the room slowly, stands beside her but doesn’t touch. 

“Does it have something to do with that letter?” 

Hecate’s head is pounding. “No,” she lies, but it’s terrible and even she doesn’t believe it. 

“May I see it?” 

Hecate tightens her grip, the letter crumpled in her hand. “It’s nothing.” 

Pippa touches her arm again, so gently. “Hecate, please. I just want to help.” 

“You can’t.”

“You don’t know that.” She looks at her, and there’s so much affection there, so much kindness, so much grief, for her, because she’s suffering, and Hecate doesn’t know what to do with it, where to put all that kindness. When Hecate doesn’t respond, Pippa tries again, an arched eyebrow as she says “I think if someone’s writing letters in my name, I should know what they say, don’t you?” 

Hecate understands the sentiment, but there’s no way she can allow Pippa to see what she didn’t write, to know how Hecate feels when she doesn’t feel the same. It would ruin their friendship, for good, Pippa would never want to see her again and she’s just gotten her back and she can’t lose her again, not this time, not because of how she feels, it would break something irreparably and she knows that and—

“Hecate, breathe.” 

She takes a breath. 

“I promise, whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together, alright?” 

She should give it to her, she shouldn’t, she should, she shouldn’t, she doesn’t know, but her hand loosens around the paper and Pippa gently pries it from her hand and then she’s reading it and her eyes go wide and Hecate is fairly certain she’s never felt more embarrassed in her life. 

She can’t look at Pippa’s face, stares at a point on the wall and the silence drags. Pippa doesn’t say anything for the longest time, and then, softly, almost wounded, 

“I didn’t send you this.” 

“I’m aware.” 

There’s another stretch of silence, then the fissure of magic that makes Hecate look in her direction. Pippa waves her hand over the letter and murmurs an uncloaking spell, and Hecate wishes she’d thought of that, wishes she’d done it earlier, wishes, and wishes. 

Pippa shows her the letter again, the same words, but a different, familiar hand. 

“Mildred Hubble.” 

It doesn’t make sense. Mildred has never been particularly fond of her, Hecate knows, but she’s never been cruel. She’s made mistakes, grave ones, but never, not once, has she done anything intentionally hurtful to anyone, and Hecate feels her stomach knot so badly it aches. 

They’ve been no more at odds lately than usual, especially after the wishing star debacle, after Indigo, after Hecate’s confinement was lifted. Their usual disputes—test scores and not paying attention in class and recklessness, but she’d thought, maybe, they’d been coming to some kind of understanding. Some kind of neutral ground. 

She was wrong. 

She was wrong, and it hurts, and she isn’t sure what’s worse—Mildred’s betrayal, or the devastated look on Pippa’s face, her soft, 

“Why would she do this?” 

Hecate doesn’t have an answer. Doesn’t even know, in this moment, how to be furious. 

But Pippa is. Abruptly, horribly _furious_ and Hecate hasn’t seen her like this since they were children, since the time Alice Perriwinkle tripped Hecate in the hall and everyone laughed. Since Pippa nearly got expelled after hexing her with a nose that grew every time she lied. 

“How dare she,” Pippa says, her voice trembling. 

Hecate closes her eyes for a moment and takes a steadying breath. “I’ll see to it that she’s reprimanded,” she says, but the words don’t hold any bite.

“This is a gross invasion of personal privacy, not to mention a humiliating prank—”

 _Humiliating,_ Hecate thinks. Of course it is. Of course Pippa would be humiliated by it, by the very implication. She tries not to sway on her feet. Tries not to give anything away, but then Pippa goes quiet, looking at her like she’s searching for something, seeing something Hecate desperately wants to keep hidden. 

“You believed it.”

Hecate doesn’t answer. There’s nothing she can say that will be any less damning than her silence, and Pippa’s eyes widen. 

“You—you weren’t angry. About what it said.”

It sounds surprised, and Hecate looks up at her briefly, then away. 

“I think you’re angry enough for the both of us.”

Pippa watches her, doesn’t move, doesn’t look like she’s breathing until she swallows tightly and says, so quietly, 

“I’m not angry about what it says. I’m angry I didn’t get to tell you myself.” 

Hecate stares. The words don’t quite compute, and her mind stalls trying to make sense of them. 

“You what?” Is all she manages, and Pippa sighs. 

“You must know—I haven’t been particularly subtle. I just… thought you were uninterested.” 

She feels like a broken record. “Uninterested?” 

“In me.” 

The conversation has turned so quickly, so abruptly, Hecate can’t find her footing. Doesn’t know what to do, what to say, can’t think of anything and simply stares at Pippa, unsure what her face is doing, what expression it’s making. After a moment, Pippa sighs, and looks down at the letter. 

“I wanted to, you know. For a long time. To tell you. But I know you don’t feel the same, and I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for either of us.” 

She knows she needs to say something, respond in kind, a mantra in her head that just repeats, _tell her, tell her, tell her._

Instead, she says, stiffly, “Then why are you telling me now?” 

Pippa shrugs. “I don’t—I’d hate for you to think it’s the content of the message I object to.” She looks up at Hecate, eyes wide. “That’s what you were thinking, right? That I was upset by what it said, and not who said it.” 

She knows her, still, after so long, and Hecate doesn’t understand that either. “Yes.”

Pippa nods, then considers, “Maybe that was the point.” 

Hecate arches an eyebrow. 

“Why Mildred sent the letter,” she explains. “Maybe it wasn’t cruel. Maybe it was...so we’d do this.” 

“You think Mildred Hubble is trying to… set us up?” 

Pippa chuckles. “Darling, she’s been trying to set us up since the spelling bee. I think this—” She waves the letter. “—is just a drastic measure.” 

“Perhaps,” Hecate allows, thinks of all the times Mildred has conveniently placed Pippa in proximity to her, the two of them alone, forced to talk. 

“Did it work?” Pippa asks finally, and there’s something like hope in her voice that makes Hecate pause. 

It’s a risk. A huge risk to her heart, the biggest she’s taken in decades, and part of her, a large, loud part of her wants to run away. Wants to pretend none of this ever happened, to to go back to being friends and pining from afar where it’s safe, where it’s what she deserves. 

But Pippa is looking at her so hopefully, and all that affection, all that kindness, feels different now. Bigger. Brighter. 

She swallows. Says, so slowly, “I suppose it would not be the worst thing. To be set up by a student.” 

“Oh?” 

Hecate nods, and Pippa moves a bit closer, takes her hand, and Hecate feels a rush of warmth through her as she curls her fingers back around Pippa’s palm. 

“I don’t think it would be the worst thing either,” Pippa says softly. 

Slowly, tentatively, Hecate lets herself smile.


End file.
